


Backdraft

by cosmic_medusa



Series: We Three Kings [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28167702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_medusa/pseuds/cosmic_medusa
Summary: The death of Jessica Moore ends the life Sam, Dean and Cas had known thus far.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Series: We Three Kings [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1306616
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Backdraft

A/N there is a quote in here, indicated by * at the end of the sentence, that is taken directly from one of the greatest television shows ever made, _Homicide: Life on the Street_. On another note, this does not mean I condone the use of illegal substances—quite the opposite. Having had a beloved family member struggle with these issues, however, I find myself deeply identifying with the plight of our favorite brothers. I apologize if this leads to a ridiculous overload of angst.

  
  


A post-midnight phone call was, for many, a worst nightmare. For Cas, it was normal: he’d ensured that the phone was next to his side of the bed, not Dean’s, so he could roll over and scoop it up if need be. It was pretty much always the hospital, calling him in, though on occasion it would be his brother Gabe, who neither knew nor cared whether he was waking his brother up if the urge struck to call.

“It’s Cas,” he mumbled.

“Cas?” the voice on the other end sounded so small, nearly eclipsed by the sound of engines and shouting.

“Yes. Speaking.”

Quiet for a moment. He heard the sound of more shouted voices, and then a soft, “is Dean there?”

Cas sat up, shaking Dean’s bare shoulder. “Sure...I can get him for you. Sam...are you alright?”

No answer. Dean rolled over and stared up at him blearily. “What?” he grumbled.

“It’s Sam.”

“Huh?” he glanced at the clock. “What the hell?” Dean took the receiver. “Sammy?”

For a few seconds, Cas thought it really would be nothing. But then Dean shot up like a jack-in-the-box, flipped on his light, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Okay—hey—Sammy, listen—I hear you, I’m— _Sam_! C’mon, keep with me. You’re at the apartment?” he listened again. “Alright,” he said, softening his voice, reaching for his discarded clothes. “Alright, kiddo, I’m on my way. I’m gonna be there before you know it. You don’t have to answer anything until then, alright? Sammy?” he paused again, then dropped his voice once more. “I know, little brother. Just hang on a little longer. I’m on my way.”

He tossed the receiver to Cas, already yanking his shirt over his head. Cas hung up, stomach in knots. “What is it?”

“There was a fire,” Dean said, yanking on his boxers. “Get dressed.”

“Is he alrigtht?”

“Get _dressed_ , Cas.”

Cas obeyed. They were downstairs in under five minutes, Dean already starting the car by the time Cas flung himself into the passenger seat. “In the dorms, you said?”

Dean backed out into the street, pointed the car north, and nearly floored it in the direction of his brother’s campus. Only then did he say “in his apartment. Everything’s gone.”

“But he’s okay?”

Dean kept his eyes on the road. “Jessica’s gone too.”

Cas stopped breathing for a second. Dean’s jaw was set, face cool and calm and betraying no emotion, though he knew that he’d loved Sam’s girlfriend like a sister. “She didn’t make it out?” he managed dumbly.

“She’s dead. Sammy didn’t give details.”

Cas felt his throat swelling. “Oh my God.”

“Right. So, whatever reaction you need to have, you have fifteen-minutes to have it.”

Cas turned, staring at Dean’s silhouette in the light of the dash. “What?”

“Because then we’ll be there, and he needs us calm, you understand me?”

Cas barely recognized this Dean—composed to the point of cold, jaw strong and set, and seemingly unfeeling that he’d just lost a loved one.

“Dean—” he began.

“Sam _needs_ us,” Dean snapped. And there was _his_ Dean—the one whose sole purpose was to protect a younger, more innocent brother, the one capable of boxing up all his own feelings to tend to those he loved.

Cas shed a few quiet tears, than gathered himself in the silence of the rest of the drive, determined to face Sam with all the quiet strength his elder brother had always offered, even if it wasn’t blood that bound them.

***

They made the twenty minute drive in ten.

Dean and Cas launched out of the hazardly parked car and ran toward the tall, still figure they saw huddled between the flashing lights of the police, ambulance, and fire departments. Dean's arms were open and accepting his younger brother before he reached him, and Sam came willingly, sagging into Dean as easily as a well-worn armchair.

"Sammy," Dean murmured, smoothing his brother's hair. “I’m here.”

"I stayed late at the library," Sam said, completely devoid of feeling. "Jess sent me a text saying she was going to bed and would see me in the morning. I sent one back saying goodnight and I love you and I’d be careful not to let her cat out when I came in. I keep doing that and then she makes me chase him down. We’re not supposed to have a cat in student housing.”

Dean glanced toward the smoke billowing out of the second story. Cas wondered, briefly, what had happened to the cat, and then forced himself to look at Dean’s steady features before he lost his battle against tears again.

“Alright,” Dean murmured, even as his shoe met Cas’s shin and he mouthed ‘shock’ over his brother’s shoulder. Cas gently touched Sam's forehead, than felt his pulse. It was all too clear Dean’s diagnosis was right.

"It'll be alright, Sam," he managed, though his voice shook.

"They said it started in the ceiling,” Sam said, still frightenly detached. “An electrical shortage. It took out our whole room. They said she probably never woke up. Would of gotten me if I'd been there. I should of been there."

Dean shut his eyes, pulling his brother closer. "Don't say that, Sammy. It was a freak accident. Not your fault. Not anyone's fault. She went right to sleep. Didn't feel anything."

Sam was quiet for a long minute. Then: "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Me and Cas are here."

"Jess—" his voice cracked. He reached up and grabbed his brother's shirt. "Jess is—"

"I know, buddy. I know. Shhh," Dean murmured, petting his brother's head as the younger man shook. "We know. Me and Cas got you. Everything's going to be okay."

Cas stripped off his coat and used it to cover Sam's trembling shoulders. Dean held his brother tighter, continuing to smooth his hair, speak soft reassurances, while Cas took it upon himself to speak with the fire and police departments.

Sam had given them what little he could: Cas recognized, and empathized, with the looks on their faces. As professionals they maintained, by necessity, a distance from the people involved: as humans, they struggled to fend off their own empathy. Cas gave them the address and phone number of his and Dean’s home, thanked them on Sam’s behalf, and told Dean in a low voice that they could bring Sam home.

But the younger Winchester didn’t want to leave. He whimpered when they tried to guide him to the car, pulled away from his brother and stepped toward the Ambulances.

“Cas...where is she going? What are they gonna do?”

Dean laid gentle hands on his brother’s shoulders while Cas stepped into his vision.

“They’re going to take care of her,” he soothed. “They’ll treat her with respect and dignity and prep her to be taken to a funeral home.” Sam didn’t need to hear about the cold of a morgue, the bags she’d be zippered in to, the gurneys she’d be shoved around on. Sam didn’t need his expertise: he needed his reassurance. “She’s safe, Sam. Nothing bad will happen to her, I promise. You can come home with us, now. She’d want _you_ to be safe too.”

Sam shivered, violently, and let out a horrible little whimper, like a wounded puppy. “Dean?” he gasped, and reached for his brother, who was already pulling him close.

“I know, buddy, I know. I’m here. Let’s go home, alright?”

“Can I...can I stay with you tonight?” Sam whispered, his voice desperately young.

“Damnit, Sammy—” Dean’s voice hitched, and he looked at Cas, seeming to draw strength. “You can always come to us, always. Our home is your home and you can always go there. That’s what we’re gonna do now. We’re gonna take you home and take care of you. Me and Cas. We’ll do all you need. Hear me?” He shook him, gently. “Sammy?”

Cas stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on the middle of his younger friend’s back. “Sam? You’re always welcome, for as long as you want or need. Dean and I will always look after you. Would you let us take you there now?”

A loan tear slipped out of the corner of the younger man’s face. “Dean? Can...can me and you and Cas go now?”

“Yeah, bud. We can go now.” Dean stroked gently over Sam’s head. “C’mon to the car, okay?” 

They bundled Sam in the back of the Impala. Dean spoke to Sam as he would to a child, voice soothing and slightly higher than usual. Sam slumped, letting himself be held, but it was clear he wasn't fully understanding what was being told to him. They guided Sam upstairs to their guestroom, prompted him to change into borrowed clothes, and got him tucked into their guest bed as Cas checked his temperature and vitals and Dean kept up his litany of reassurances.

"It'll be alright," he soothed, "you get some sleep. We'll be right down the hall."

"I don't have anything to wear to the funeral."

"We'll get you sorted. Don't worry. Don't worry about anything."

Sam reached out and caught Dean’s sleeve. "I—I was gonna ask her to marry me. I'd--I was looking at rings. But I—I wanted to wait. I wanted—I wanted to ask you to help me decide. I wanted—I was gonna—ask you to be Best Man."

Dean shut his eyes, hand moving soft and slow over his brother's hair. For the first time since this unspeakable nightmare had begun, he seemed to be battling his own emotions.

"Sam," Cas said softly, "would you like me to give you a little something to help you sleep?"

Sam began to shake. "What if she woke up and saw the fire all around her? What if she reached for me and I wasn't there?"

"No, Sammy, she—"

"I wasn't there, I wasn't _there_!" Sam dug his fingers into his pillow and burst into tears. Dean swooped in and pulled him tight, as much to muffle the sound from their neighbors as to comfort.

"Alright, alright," he murmured, rocking his howling brother. "Go on, let it go. We gotcha." Cas settled behind them and rubbed slow and easy up Sam's spine, just as he had when Dean woke trembling from dreams he refused to speak of

"I couldn't—I _can't_ save—any—one—" Sam gasped, "he'd—beat—you and—I—could— _never_ —and now—Jess— _Jess_ —"

"It was an accident, Sammy, an accident," Dean smoothed his brother's hair, "not your fault, not anyone's fault. I know it hurts, bud, but it wasn't your fault."

"We'll help you," Cas promised. His boyfriend met this eyes. Cas spoke stronger. He may not be able to do much but damnit, he could say this. "We love you, Sam."

Sam sobbed for so long Cas worried he might need to prescribe and shoot him full of a sedative. He left patches of damp all over Dean’s shirt. He slept only when the two older men had slumped down on either side of him, exhausted. And then it was more passing out than sleeping, fingers tangled in his elder brother’s shirt, mouth ajar from his stopped-up nose. Cas kept a steady hand on his back and Dean smoothed his brother’s hair absently.

“Christ, Cas,” Dean whispered across Sam’s dark head. “I was seriously wondering if I’d have to hit him or something.”

“His body is rather overwhelmed,” Cas said gently. “Given his emotional state, it’s only natural.”

Dean sighed. “It doesn’t seem real to me. I’m not complaining,” he said quickly. “Given how hard and fast Sammy’s always felt everything. Maybe it’s a delayed reaction. But I don’t feel it yet.”

“That’s perfectly natural too.”

Dean leaned his chin lightly on his Sam’s unruly hair. Sam’s breath hitched, and he shifted a little more into his brother before relaxing once more. “How’re you?”

“I’m...alright. Used to sleepless nights.”

“I know I was tough on you earlier. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You were right. Sam needed us. You can’t tend to us both.”

“I can. If you need it, I can.”

Cas smiled. “This isn’t a stomach bug, Dean,” he chided.

“ _God_ ,” he groaned, but still grinning back. “Don’t ever do that again.”

They were referencing what Cas referred to as “the unfortunate weekend.” Also known as, the weekend he and Sam managed to catch the same stomach bug at the same time. Jess had been visiting her parents, and Sam had been staying with them, and within hours of one another, Sam was sprawled on the sofabed puking into the downstairs toilet while Cas commandeered the upstairs one. Dean had spent two sleepless days and nights running from upstairs to down with water and saltines and oatmeal, thermometers and wet washcloths and Pepto Bismol, trying to hold _both_ their heads so they didn’t smash anything on the porcelain. When they were both no longer feverish and holding down food, he’d given them strict orders to look after one another and passed out on the guest bed.

Two days later he himself was puking, and, for once, uncomplaining at both his brother’s and boyfriend’s overbearing fussing.

“We’ll get him through this, Dean,” Cas assured. “And, when we need to, one another.”

Dean smiled warmly, reaching over and squeezed Cas’s shoulder, and then closed his eyes his own body dropping into the exhausted darkness alongside his brother’s.

Cas had stayed awake, watching and guarding them both, for a long, long time.

*

Friends brought clothes.

Dean and Cas bought clothes.

They stood on either side of him at the funeral and, night after night, they sat up: Cas, rubbing his back; Dean, holding and petting his brother's head. In the morning, Dean brought Sam eggs and toast, juice and coffee, and sat with him while he ate.

Dean and Cas decided to take the rest of the week off, and they spent it trying to establish some type of routine, for Sam’s sake. 

Or rather, Dean did. He was endlessly gentle, patient, and caring—he half-dragged Sam to meals, brought him glasses of ice-water, made him help him fold laundry and watch sports and movies he thought he’d like. He coaxed him to run errands, help cook meals, and, when Sam would retreat into deep silences, laid his hands on his shoulders and spoke to him softly until the tenseness in Sam’s body and lines of grief and exhaustion in his face relaxed.

When Cas noticed Sam trailing behind his brother, seeming lost and out of place, Dean always acted as if he’d asked Sam to be there—“hand me that wrench, grab a frying pan, dig out the Clorox”—but it was clear his sudden need to be near his brother was anxiety-driven. Cas saw Sam locking, unlocking, and re-locking the doors, checking the windows, pacing and checking until Dean would flop onto the sofa and call “Sammy, get your ass over here!” and get his brother to slump down wearily beside him while his older brother talked their way through whatever he’d found on Cable.

For the first time in his life, Cas truly witnessed the bond of family.

Sure, he’d seen the bond of _friendship_ ; despite their differences, the Winchester brothers were unquestionably the closest and best of friends. But this was different.

Sam’s moods were volatile. He could be docile one moment, steady and calm the next, raging moments later, and sullen and silent soon after. Dean rode them all with practiced history, and unconditional acceptance. He didn’t flinch when Sam yelled, or sulk when he was silent, or complain when he was listless. He took it all in, saying a few words at a time, and sticking close, which, no matter what mood he was in, seemed to be what Sam needed more than anything. Even if he was yelling at his brother to leave him be, if Dean ventured more than a room away, Cas saw a panic come over the younger Winchester, a moment where he thought, maybe, he’d pushed his brother too far. And every time he saw it, Dean would reappear, warmly, offering a simple task for his brother to join him in, and Sam would follow him, trembling until his brother rested a hand between his shoulders.

And most importantly, when Sam woke in the night, whether he shouted or not, Dean knew and rushed down the hall, soothing, calming, and holding him while his brother cried.

Cas had seen these things from Dean before, but never on such a long-term scale, and it made his chest fill with affection and adoration and something else: determination.

Having never been needed, it was amazing to watch someone rely so heavily on another, and receive what they wanted.

He wanted to be a student of Dean’s type of care. He wanted to be for the Winchesters what they were for each other.

It was time to step up, and do what he did best: learn.

*

The Monday following Jessica’s funeral, Dean went to work, and Cas arranged to take an evening shift. Sam had eaten with Dean, and after a great deal of huffing and puffing and fussing and “I’ll be home before you know it,” Dean backed the Impala out of the driveway and left Sam cleaning the bathroom while Cas washed the dishes.

The house was quiet: too quiet. Dean always made noise: he banged drawers and cabinets and dishes and shouted perpetual conversations, whether anyone listened or not. And when Sam was there, the boys went at full throttle, poking and teasing and laughing and arguing and hugging when they were saying goodbye.

With Sam upstairs, and Cas puttering, nothing seemed right. Dean was their bond : without him, Cas felt lost as to how to lead, to comfort, his younger friend.

He stepped out on the porch, sat on the bench, and drew a few deep breaths. Dean always said that helped: to breathe deep and not panic.

_Be calm for Sammy._

_Be a rock for Sammy._

_Give all you have to Sammy, because he’ll give it all back. A thousand times._

“Cas?” Sam said. Cas leapt to his feet.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly.

“Do...is it...” Sam swallowed nervously. “Can I sit?”

“Sure.” He smiled, hoping it was warm, as Sam settled next to him.

“I...um.” Sam rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans. Cas did his best to imitate Dean and stay friendly and calm despite his racing pulse. “I was...reading that...smoke makes...people sleepy. And, um...that people who... _go_ , in fires...don’t feel anything.” Sam turned wide, damp, eyes on him. “Is it true?”

Cas nodded. “It’s one of the many reasons they invented smoke alarms. Smoke in large doses coaxes the body to deeper sleep rhythms.”

“Did you ever treat burn victims?”

Cas took a deep, slow breath. “One of my very first patients as an intern. A child. Three years old. He’d—” Cas stopped. “His mother—” he stopped again. Sam’s eyes were fixed on him, full of the same sympathy, the same encouragement, the same intense focus as his brother’s. “I almost quit. I almost decided I couldn’t be a doctor. I saw this small, helpless, screaming little boy, and his sobbing mother, and I froze. I couldn’t think of anything but that the world is cruel and evil and pain is never justified. And then I saw my colleagues spring into action, and they—they _took away his pain._ I don’t know how to describe what that feels like. But they made the pain disappear. They made the mother stop sobbing. They released a little boy with a big smile and a mother who couldn’t stop hugging them. It was...a miracle.”

“Only it was science,” Sam said, damp eyes on the porch floor.

“Science is a miracle, Sam. What we, as humans, as _animals_ , have been able to learn, treat, overcome...it’s a miracle.”

Sam turned, eyes filled. “I believed in God, Cas,” he whispered, almost as if it’s a terrible secret, “I thought God gave me Jess. Why would He take her away?”

“I don’t know,” Cas murmured, unable to stop himself from reaching across the short distance between them and gripping Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, I don’t know if God oversees everything or if he’s just a...consultant,” he said, causing the younger Winchester to chuckle, “but a long time ago, an ethics professor said ‘if God made pain, he also made opiates to take away that pain.’* And as a doctor, that’s my job. I relieve pain the only way I know how. The same way your brother tries by bringing you breakfast and buying you clothes. The same way I do by—” he stopped. Sam turned to him, smiling through his tears.

“I know,” he said. “I was awful at first. But it wasn’t because you were a man. I just...Dean’s...” he took a deep breath, “he’s given me _so_ much. He’s been everything to me, for so many years. And when I watched him start dating, at first it was fine, because it wasn’t serious. But then...it got...” he swallowed, hard. “You’re different. Better. You’ve—” he wavered. “You...I want you and Dean to be okay. You’re good for each other. You don’t...you don’t...have to look out for me.”

Cas took a moment to gather his thoughts. Then, calmly, said “Growing up, I barely remember my father. I was looked after by Nannies. On occasion, I was allowed on excursions with my elder brothers. My father is Chief of a network of prominent hospitals and we were all expected to enter medicine or business, so I entered medicine. And then, one day while I was by a patient’s bed, a nurse looked at me and said ‘so, which one are you?’ and I had to get out. I had to go somewhere where no one knew my Father. Where I could make it on my own merits. Where I could meet people who wouldn’t judge me because of where I came from. Even if they were people I loved, and still love, from there. And I met Dean. And you. And Jess.” He reached out and laid a hand between Sam’s shoulder blades. “I love your brother as much as Jess loved you, Sam. I’m sure of that. And if I passed, I’d want Dean to be cared for and safe and loved, just as I’m sure she’d want for you. And you want for her. Please, let us help you.”

Sam stared at him. “Our Dad—” he managed.

“I know,” Cas murmured.

“Jess,” Sam’s voice broke. Cas’ own eyes filled.

“I _swear_ , she didn’t suffer. I _promise_ , Sam.”

He wasn’t sure how, but Sam ended up clutching him, face buried in his shoulder, and Cas did his best to hold him, focused as hard as he could on the love Dean would give if he himself were the one holding his younger brother, and then tried to hold on to Sam all the tighter.

***

Two mornings later, Sam wandered into the kitchen to find Dean shouting “it’s not _my_ fault the jackass said—I know but— _Jay_! Come on, Sam’s—” he stopped when he saw his brother, bit his lip and tried to smile, and Sam knew he was going to be on his own for the rest of the day.

It had been a long time coming: Jay and Anna had been extremely kind and accommodating, but there was only so far they could stretch their small staffs.

“You could come with me,” Dean said, obviously not thrilled about the idea either. “See the shop, read. Just like old times.”

“It’s alright, Dean,” Sam said, trying to smile.

“What about some of your school friends?”

“They have class.”

“So? Skip a day.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Dean pulled a chair close. “I know this sucks, man, and it’s a lot to figure out—”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Sam said, and rose before Dean could see the building tears.

Of course Dean had to get back to normal—Cas did too. They had their own lives. They were their own family. Dean wasn’t going to just sit around the house with him forever. Besides—Sam had plenty to work on. He could do some homework—all your papers burned, minus your backpack—or mess around online—and look up what?—or read a book—your books all burned.

He could do dishes, or wash clothes, or scrub down the bathrooms. Dean had kept him occupied doing that, and it helped to have a task, however simple, to focus on.

Sam turned the shower from warm to hot. When he’d gone to the library, Jess had been in the shower. He’d called a goodbye. In a few minutes, Dean would call through the door, tell him he’d see him for dinner, and go off. In a few minutes, Dean would go, and Sam would have the house to himself, to—to— _to_ —

And suddenly, Sam was in the bottom of the tub, chest heaving, tears streaming, gulping down air and shower water and buds of soap. He didn’t belong here and he didn’t have a home to go back to and Dean was walking out the door, walking away from Sam, and it was just like when they were kids and Sam had to stay upstairs while their Dad raged and think _Dean come back, come back, come back_!

“Alright, bro, alright,” Dean murmured, appearing, suddenly, to shut off the shower. Sam could feel his brother’s breath in his hair, Dean’s hands carefully pulling a towel around his sopping shoulders—and he was naked, still, crouched down in the tub, and he didn’t even care at this point, didn’t have the _energy_ for pride.

“Please don’t go,” he sobbed, digging his hands hard into Dean’s back. “Don’t leave, please don’t leave me, Dean. I need you, I need you here...”

“Okay, buddy, I’m not gonna go,” Dean murmured, one handed steadying Sam’s back while the other rubbed between his shoulder blades. “But I need you to calm down for me, huh? Let’s get you up.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Sam wailed. “I don’t know what to do if you’re not here.”

“I know, I know, let’s get you up. C’mon, Sammy,” Dean’s voice had a strange, sing-song quality to it Sam hadn’t heard in years. “C’mon, kiddo. I’m right here. Deep, slow breaths, alright? Easy does it.”

Somehow, Dean gets him out of the tub and into dry sweats and socks and a shirt—and Sam struggles to ignore the fact that his brother just _dressed him_ , like he’s a kid instead of a full-grown man—and gets him sitting on the bed, bundled up against his brother, hair still dripping from his unfinished shower.

“C’mon, buddy, you gotta calm down for me. I’ll stay, alright? I’m right here, Sammy.”

“I can’t—I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to _do_ , Dean!”

“You don’t have to,” Dean murmured, rocking him slightly. “You don’t have to. You can just rest for awhile. Lie on the couch, watch TV, read a few books. Just let yourself heal a bit. This has been a nightmare.”

“I can’t,” Sam gripped desperately at Dean’s shirt, trying to find the words to explain the enormity of the _terror_ he felt having nothing, no one. All his plans, his drive and focus, the world he’d thought he’d lived in, was _gone_. It was his Dad all over, rearing up to steal away every bit of stability he’d had.

“Yes you can. I’ll help you. _We’ll_ help you.” Dean’s hands moved in twin paths up and down his back. “I’ll take care of you.”

“What if I can’t take care of you?” Sam gasped. “What if I lose you, Dean?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Jess wasn’t either.” If it weren’t for his brother, Sam knew he’d be face-first by now. “She was gonna marry me.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, baby,” Dean whispered, breathing out soothingly over Sam’s hair as the world dissolved under him once more. “Look at me,” he said firmly, pulling away to cup his brother’s face. “I want you to take one of Cas’ pills, okay?”

“No. No, Dean—”

“Sam, you haven’t slept. You won’t eat. You drink coffee like it’s water. And your nerves are shot.”

“I don’t want to have a dream and not be able to wake up!”

“I’ll stay right here,” Dean soothed, rubbing Sam’s trembling shoulders. “Long as it takes. If you start to dream, I’ll wake you up, alright?”

“Dean—”

“ _Sam_ , this isn’t a discussion. You are _exhausted_. You have a right to your grief, but you’re not thinking clearly enough to process it. You gotta _rest_ , buddy.” He pulled Sam into a hug once more, let his brother cling. “I’ll stay right here. Whether it’s an hour or two or ninety. Doesn’t matter. I’ll stay awake and make sure you don’t get stuck in a nightmare.”

 _I already am_.

*

It was dark when Cas came home. Sam was curled against Dean’s side, face pushed into his brother’s ribs, hand fisted in his shirt. Dean was reading one of Cas’ _Time_ magazines and absently petting Sam’s hair. Cas looked worried, and Dean motioned him closer.

“Got him to pop one of your pills,” he explained.

“I thought you’d be at work. What happened?”

Dean told him. Cas’ face softened to one of sorrow and empathy as he stared at Dean’s brother. Dean felt a swell of warmth: even if Cas didn’t quite understand them, he accepted them without question, and it meant the world to him.

“I can sit with him if you want a break,” Cas said. “Or I could bring you whatever you need.”

“I need sleep, a beer, and a good long lay. Not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily all while sitting next to my kid brother.”

Cas chuckled sympathetically and rubbed his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’ll make you a sandwich and bring it up.”

“Thanks.” Beside him, Sam whimpered. Dean hushed him. Cas’ hand tightened on his shoulder. “I hate this. I hate that I can’t fix it.”

“You’re taking care of him,” Cas reminded him. “That’s what he needs.” Sam whimpered again, kicked at the covers, and rolled away from Dean. The elder Winchester reached over and rubbed his brother’s back until he quieted.

“I think...maybe we should take him to a doctor. Not like you.”

“I’ll pay,” Cas promised, and before Dean could snipe at him, he held up a placating hand. “Insurance can be weird about these things. Good, in-network psychologists and psychiatrists are usually booked up for ages. I don’t want him to be limited. When it comes to his health, Dean, I will write checks the size of the Chrystler building, and I won’t have your pride interfere.”

“Asshole,” Dean muttered. Cas smiled. “How’re you doing?”

“An elderly woman brought her cat in. While we were trying to explain we don’t treat animals, it escaped.”

“Hundreds of thousands of dollars invested in your education, and you end up chasing down feral beasts, huh?”

Cas sighed. “Promise me you won’t make us get a cat. They’re...prideful.”

Dean laughed, keeping it as quiet as possible. Cas’ precise, overly-polite language always made him laugh. His boyfriend blushed a little—Cas had told him no one had ever thought he was funny until he met Dean, just weird—and the elder Winchester felt a sharp, sudden longing. He wanted, _needed_ , to be with Sam, but he missed his boyfriend. He felt a wash of shame even admitting it, because Sammy was his reason for _being_ , but Dean had been spoiled with happiness and the relaxed, easy affection he shared with Cas. He wanted to slide under the covers with his boyfriend and let go in the safety of the dark, share how bad Sam’s panic attack had rattled him, how worried he was for Sam’s increasingly unstable mental state, how he wasn’t sure what he was doing, or what he needed, other than Jess...and hell, _God_ , he was so damn sad, now, about Jess. And he just wanted to spill it with Cas at his back, steady and safe in the dark.

It was the worse selfishness. Sammy needed him so badly, and Dean needed to _care_ for his brother just as badly, but he was wishing he could just ignore his brother’s pain and indulge in his own.

Cas leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good man,” he murmured. “Please let me help. Partners, right?”

Dean was going to lose it. He wanted a beer so bad it killed. He had these two amazing people in his life he adored, who, for some screwed up reason, adored _him_ , and he wasn’t saving Sammy and he wasn’t there for Cas and everything felt like it was spinning out of control in a way it hadn’t in years.

“Dean? What is it?”

Sam whimpered beside him. The room was spinning. Cas sat beside him and pulled him close, guiding his head to his own shoulder the way Dean did for Sammy.

“It’s okay,” Cas murmured. “It’s okay, Dean. This isn’t all on you.”

“Do you think...something’s wrong? With my brother?” Dean’s voice broke.

“No, of course not. I think he’s been through a terrible tragedy and he needs us to help him through it. And we _will_.” Cas pulled away, blue eyes boring into his own. “You’re tired.”

“So are you.”

“I’ll make you some dinner.”

“You’re not my maid.” Dean wiped miserably at his face, embarrassed when he found it was damp. 

“You need to be with Sam. You promised him. I’ll change and make us some sandwiches.”

“Cas...”

“You need to let me help you now,” he said, in that gentle but firm way he used with patients. “You can’t do this on your own. And neither could I. We need to look after one another so we can be strong for Sam.”

Dean nodded. Sam whimpered once more. Cas cast a sad look at him, patted Dean’s shoulder and stood. Dean reached out, dropped a hand to his brother’s shaggy head, and stroked his hair until he quieted.

“Hey, bro...I want you to know something. I should tell you when you’re awake...but you know me.” He smiled down at him. “When I met Cas...I knew he was ‘the one.’ But he can’t take your place. No one can.” He lowered his voice. “I will _always_ look out for you. And put you first. And protect you, no matter what. I carried you out of that house when it was in flames, and I will carry you out of every other fire through your life. I promise you.” His eyes filled. “I love you, kid.”

Sam whimpered in his sleep, like Dean had said something wrong, or was leaving.

*

Sam woke to a low light somewhere behind him, warmth at his back. “Dean?” he mumbled.

“M’right here,” his brother said, and a hand smoothed over the back of his head. “Go back to sleep, Sammy.”

“Time’s it?”

“Late, bud.”

“You...can sleep. Too. Here?”

The drugs had taken their effect. He felt sorta drunk, aware that he should be up and moving, but he was too damn tired to try. He wanted to be a kid again, little and stupid and utterly convinced his big brother could handle anything, because Dean protected him from everything that couldn’t _be_ handled.,

“ _Dean_ ,” he sobbed, feeling grief wrench him. He wanted to be small enough to curl up in his brother’s lap. He wanted to be able to crawl into bed with him and not have it be weird or sick or strange. He wanted to have never known Jess, or death, or even the knowledge of their father’s abuse and addiction.

“Alright, kiddo,” Dean soothed, scooting down and slipping an arm over his chest, pulling him close. “You gotta sleep too though, okay?”

Sam was too drugged, too _exhausted_ to filter himself. “M’scared,” he mumbled.

ldquo;I gotcha,” Dean murmured, rubbing the tense muscles between his brother’s shoulders. “Relax, buddy. Close your eyes.” 

“Wh’s Cas?” Sam hated these pills. His tongue wasn’t working right.

“Right down the hall. He’s safe. We’re safe. And we have the day together tomorrow, the three of us.”

Sam whimpered. Dean’s hand found his hair once more. “Dean.”

“Right here.”

“Don’ go.”

“M’right here.”

“Don’,” Sam sobbed. “Don’ go.”

Dean dropped his arm around him and pulled him close. “I won’t leave you. We’re gonna figure this out buddy. I promise.”

_Doesn’t the once upon a time always end with the ‘happily ever after?’_

*

There’s no more delaying it: Dean _has_ to go to work. He apologizes, promises Sam Cas will spend the day with him, brings him a tray with eggs and toast, rubs his back, and leaves. Sam cries, burrows under the covers, and wills himself to sleep until his brother comes home.

It seems like seconds later that Cas said “Sam?”

Sam stayed still. Cas padded quietly across the floor and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Sam? It’s after noon.”

“Hm,” he mumbled. It couldn’t be: Dean just left. Sam had just willed himself to sleep. Dean wouldn’

“Can I bring you something to eat? Your eggs are cold.”

“No.”

Cas perched lightly on the edge of the bed. “I’d thought I’d go to the bookstore in a bit. Would you like to come?”

Sam felt his throat swell. He and Cas loved bookstores. Dean and Jess always said if they liked books, they could to go the library. But they liked to re-read their favorites and trade them between one another, which you couldn’t do when the book had to be back on the shelves in a week or two.

“No, Cas.”

His friend was quiet for a moment. “Sam...I can’t say I know how you feel. But...although it seems very, very difficult, if you force yourself to do things, you will begin to feel better. It will take time, but you will. Even in the hospital, when people have had surgery, we force them to walk a bit, or go outside if they’re able, each day. It’s small, but it helps them to know they’ve done more than rest, although rest is important.”

Sam closed his eyes. _Go away. Go away and let me sleep._

“Sam...I’m...I’m so worried for you,” Cas said, voice hitching. “Please...just come downstairs with me. I’ll fix you some soup, or eggs. We could sit on the porch for a bit. It’s a very nice day.”

Sam started to cry. Not sob: just open his eyes enough that tears flowed out and into the bedding. Cas leaned forward, put a gentle arm around him, and guided him up into a sitting position in that careful, practiced, professional way he had.

“Lean on me,” he murmured, and got Sam on his feet.

Cas made him soup and toast and a mug of hot tea with a splash of vanilla milk. Sam cried through the meal, the tears dripping down his face and off his chin. When he was done, Cas dabbed at his friend’s face, gently, with a warm washcloth, and helped him to the sofa, where he put on the History Channel, their favorite thing to watch the rare times they had control of the television.

“Sam,” he said gently, laying one hand on his shoulder and another on his friend’s knee. “I’ve spoken to Anna, my supervisor at the hospital. She recommended a wonderful grief counselor. She saw him herself when her Grandmother passed away. I’d like you to let me make you an appointment.”

Sam shook his head and closed his eyes. Cas gently wiped his face once more.

“Dean and I would go with you, if you like. Or just you and Dean. However you’d feel best. You wouldn’t have to talk about anything you wouldn’t want to. It would be your time to use anyway you see fit. And it would just be an additional support for you now. Someone outside the situation who may be able to offer all three of us some ways to cope.”

Sam moved toward the edge of the sofa. “I want to go to bed,” he mumbled.

“No, Sam,” Cas coaxed, gently pulling him back. “Please. I’d like you to stay awake for a bit longer.”

“Please, Cas?”

“No. That’s all. We won’t speak of it further. Not now.” He turned the TV up a bit. “It’s the baseball documentary you spoke of. We wanted to watch this, remember?” Sam stared at the TV and started to sob. Cas put a careful arm around and guided his head down on his shoulder, just like Dean would. “It’s alright,” he soothed, stroking a hand through his hair. “It’s alright, Sammy.”

Cas held him while Sam cried himself through the show. He held him when he drifted off to sleep, sneezed into his shirt, mumbled an apology, and fell back asleep. He held him through the two hours of Nazi marches, and three more about coal mines. He held him as the beautiful afternoon—his only one off—faded away into evening, and then night, and then Dean came home, took one look at that them both, kissed Cas’ cheek in thanks, and half carried, half marched, his brother up the stairs to the guestroom bed.

*

Cas jerked quickly out of sleep when someone jolted the mattress.

“Shit. Sorry—just me. Think I broke my damn toe,” Dean mumbled. Cas rolled over and got a face-full of grumpy boyfriend, Dean kissing him quickly before sliding under the covers and pulling him close.

“Sam’s asleep?” Cas asked, knowing he had to be or Dean wouldn’t be here with him.

“Yeah. Felt kinda shitty sneaking out like that, but...” he reached over and pushed hair behind Cas’s ear. “Christ. I feel like I barely see you these days.”

Cas smiled and laid a hand on Dean’s belly. “I’m still here.”

“I know.” He covered Cas’s hand with his own and sighed into the pillow. “Thank you. For taking such good care of Sam.”

“Of course.” He squeezed his hand lightly. “How are _you_?”

“Tired. Dog-tired. You?”

“Exhausted.”

Dean sighed. “Honeymoon over, huh?”

Cas rubbed Dean’s knuckles absently. “When my Grandmother died...my mother told us we weren’t to cry at the funeral. There was press, you see. And she wanted the photographers only to photograph her and her sisters in tears.”

“Dude, that is...”

“Messed up.”

Dean’s face softened. “I’m still here for you too. I know it may not seem like it, what with Sam—”

“Sam needs us _both_ to focus on him right now. And we’re to the point that we can give him that attention and our relationship won’t suffer. Right?”

Dean smiled ever so slightly, his face full of love and understanding, and Cas felt his heart swell when he leaned in and kissed him, gently.

This was what he’d been waiting his whole life for. A family that could endure the worst times. A family that could talk about their feelings without fighting or taking sides.

It was just him and Dean, safe and in love in the dark. Curling up close and drifting to sleep, more relaxed than either had been in days.

This is what Cas had always imagined when his brothers joked about the women they bedded.

This is what he believed was true when he thought of love.

This is the moment Sam screams them all awake.

*

When the sun rises, Dean and Cas look at each other across the great wall of Sam, and sigh.

*

Cas makes breakfast. Dean gets his brother up, gets him to shower, gets him into clean clothes, gets him down to the kitchen, where Sam chews eggs and toast, drops his fork, and bursts into tears. They get him onto the sofa and hold him between them until Cas has to go to work. He kisses Dean’s cheek, smoothes Sam’s hair, and braces himself for another sleepless shift.

*

The Winchester brothers are in bed when he gets home, Dean holding Sam protectively. Cas watches them for a few moments, thinks how wrong it is for all three of them to be here, like this, and goes to bed, alone, once more.

*

He’s completely unprepared when Dean rushes him in the shower. There’s no other way to phrase it: he’s rinsing soap from his hair one second, turns, and is up against the wall, lips crushed under Dean’s need, in the next.

Rachel used to do this to him during Finals. It wasn’t love-making and it wasn’t pure pleasure—it was frustration, exhaustion, stress, love, and desire, in one. And Cas had submitted.

Things were different now.

When they’re done, they’re both bruised, and somehow in the bottom of the tub, and the water scrubs away their mess and their tears, and they lay holding each other until the spray turns cold.

*

That night, they carefully, lovingly, flank Sam. Dean puts an arm around his brother’s stooped shoulders and Cas rubs gently on his younger friend’s back. Dean reassures him over and over that this is to help him. That they welcome him with them and want him to stay. That they will take care of him, and provide for him, in every way possible, always. 

But he needs help.

Cas explains about the counselor again. He tells him it won’t cost them anything, he’ll cover it all, and they can do it together, or Sam can talk one-on-one. That he was happy to contact the school and vouch that he needed to be on medical leave. That they love him and want nothing more than to help.

Sam cries and cries and they know he hasn’t heard a word they’ve said.

*

Cas wakes to find Sam staring up at the ceiling. The younger Winchester is wedged in tight between him and Dean, tucked under both their arms, against both their sides. He couldn’t move if he’d wanted to.

“Are you going to leave Dean?” Sam asks. Cas startles at the thought.

“No. Of course not.”

“Do you think Dean will leave you?”

“No, Sam.” He sat up so he could see him, rested a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Your brother and I are very happy together. And we both want to do all we can for you. This is terrible, what you’re going through.”

Sam continues to stare. His eyes are dry.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else,” he whispers. Cas rubs his shoulder gently.

“Dean loves you very, very much,” he assures him. “As do I. As Dean and I do each other. You don’t have to worry. We want the three of us to get through this together.”

Sam turns and looks at his brother. Dean is younger looking in sleep.

“I’d...like to meet the counselor.”

Cas nodded. “I’ll set it up.”

Sam nodded. “Cas...he’s my big brother.”

“Oh,Sam...” Cas reached out and rubbed his shoulder. “I know. As a little brother...I promise. I know.”

*

When Dean wakes and Sam tells him, he just smiles and pulls his brother close.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers to Sam’s hair, eyes on Cas.

They believe it.

*

Sam’s decline is like a meteor’s atmospheric a _nnihilation_.

He’s there: brilliant and burning with hope. And then, in seconds, he’s a streak against black, and then blackness itself. He’s pale skin against a dark chair, than an empty seat, than an empty bed. He’s taking pills from Brody—that damnable, demonic Brody, the roommate from hell—smoking his joints, drinking his booze and, finally, shooting his dope.

He’s still sobbing at random intervals in the night. He still lets Dean and Cas hold him.

Sometimes, when he’s shivering and shaking and clearly under the influence, he begs them not to let him go.

And when Cas and Dean do, they look at each other at random intervals throughout their day, and share love and guilt, love and guilt, love and guilt, guilt, guilt.


End file.
